When The Lights Go On Again
by RobinRocks
Summary: For the 70th anniversary of VE Day. "And as for us... all it can mean is that we're still human enough to shout and cheer amongst them. After everything we've done, we can still love. What's so bad about that?" USUK


Sadly I ended up being super-later with this! :C The 70th anniversary of Victory in Europe Day was actually on Friday 8th May but I couldn't find my Alphasmart cable to transfer the fic. The air was blue, haha.

When The Lights Go On Again

"I dunno," America says. He shrugs his broad shoulders. "I guess I feel a little guilty, is all."

"I know." England stops clearing out his desk for a moment to watch him. "I mean, thousands of our men are still over there. There's no national holiday for them."

"Mm. Plus, I mean, sure, Germany surrendered - but Japan-"

"Yes, yes, we know all about Japan. Don't worry, I'm not ready to roll down my sleeves just yet."

"W-well, I mean, you don't have to come-" America begins lamely.

"Of course I have to come. It's not over, is it? Still..." England looks to the clock on the office wall. "Almost three o' clock. There's really not much we can do about it today. We might as well go and get drunk."

America grins, pushing off the desk. "Like you need an excuse."

"Bugger off, you cheeky perisher." England tosses his papers back into the drawer. "Oh, sod this. I'll do it in the morning. Let's go upstairs."

"If it were me I'd throw it all in the damn fire," America says.

"I daresay. That you have any history at all is astounding."

America sticks out his tongue. "You old guys are so obsessed with the past. That's what causes all these wars, you know? You should be looking to the future!"

"But if we don't remember what went before then we don't learn," England says primly, falling behind as they make their way up the narrow staircase.

"England, you quite literally _never learn_ from previous wars," America grumbles. "I mean, you've been in enough of them, right? Are you ever _not_ at war?"

"Oh, don't let's argue about it now," England groans. "Not today. There'll be plenty of time for that soon enough."

"Yeah." America throws an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close as they emerge from the War Cabinet Rooms beneath Downing Street into the mob. "You're right. Today, let's just remember why we did it."

They have to push their way through the massing crowd along Whitehall, the streets full to bursting with jubilant, expectant people from all walks of life. Housewives mingle with bankers, shopgirls with mechanics, and every foot or so is a gaggle of servicemen and women from all corners of the Allied cause. The day has been declared a public holiday, of course, but even though everyone knows the European war is over, it still isn't official. Winston Churchill will announce the surrender of Germany at three o' clock sharp and not a moment sooner.

"I can't believe how by-the-book you guys are," America says. "Even your wild jubilation is restrained until you get the say-so."

"I wouldn't call it restrained," England replies lightly, side-stepping a pair of drunk RAF pilots. "We just like to do the thing properly, is all."

"It was in the morning papers!"

"Yes, yes." England shakes his head fondly at him. "You do get riled up about the silliest of things."

"I'm just saying," America replies sniffily. "Seems dumb."

"When in Rome, my dear."

"We ain't in Rome. We're in gross stuffy old London."

"Charming."

"Haha." America grins at him. "At least it's still standing, right?"

"For the most part."

"I'm curious, anyway. How come you don't want to be up next to Churchill when he announces it? You're usually glued to his side."

"When you're not glued to mine, you mean." England gives a shrug. "He gave me the day off. Told me to go out and enjoy myself."

"Kind of brushing you off, right?"

"No, I don't think it's anything like that. I suppose... he wants me to experience today with the people. I mean, that's why we fought, isn't it? For them - so they could have a future. We fought for their freedom." England looks at America. "Today we don't have to be war machines. Won't that be nice?"

"...Yeah." America glances away. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so salty. I just..."

"You miss him." In the pulsing crowd, England finds his hand and squeezes it. "I know."

"I just wish he could have seen this, you know?" America sighs. "To think how close the end was when he died, after all the work he did... I feel like I never really thanked him."

"I think he knew. He really was very fond of you."

"Mm." America wipes at his eye; squeezing back tighter. "Sorry. I don't mean to be such a downer. We should be happy today."

"It's alright. There isn't a single person in this crowd today who doesn't burn with unbearable loss. That's why they shout and cheer as loud as they do." England smiles at him. "And as for us... all it can mean is that we're still human enough to shout and cheer amongst them. After everything we've done, we can still love. What's so bad about that?"

* * *

After three o' clock, when the last words roll of Churchill's tongue and he flashes his victory salute from the balcony, the crowd goes wild. Live music clashes with gramophones dragged out into the street, people jive and swng in the middle of the road, tables and teapots and bunting come out in force for impromptu street parties at every turn. The entire city is one giant festival of complete strangers hugging and kissing and dancing; all of London, it seems, has poured into the streets to shout their joy at clear blue skies.

By dusk, America and England have joined the sluggish thrum meandering towards Buckingham Palace to demand the royal family. All the more fun to join in the shouts of "We want the king!" when you can quite literally pop in and see him any time you feel like it, America supposes, given that England is cheering with the loudest when the king and queen appear on the balcony to wave to the crowds. Then again, he's had quite a bit to drink.

"Now where?" America calls in his ear over the noise.

"Oh, I don't know. Picadilly? Trafalgar Square?" England sounds like he doesn't much care. "Not _home_ , it's too early."

"Of course we're not going home." America tugs him through the crowd, weaving this way and that. There are so many people that it's claustrophobic with delight. "Let's just get somewhere with more breathing room..."

"Wait, wait...!" England pulls back on his arm, searching wildly in the mass.

"What's the matter?"

"I swear I just saw..." England shakes his head. "Well, it can't have been. I've had too much to drink."

"Who did you think it was?" America is curious now. "Churchill?"

"No. It... definitely looked like Princess Elizabeth."

"You reckon?" Now America cranes his neck to see; but it's growing dark and the crowd is so dense it's impossible. "Well, I guess she wasn't up on the balcony with her parents, right?"

"Even so... I'm sure it can't have been her." England smiles. "But how nice it would be if it was."

They only make it as far as Trafalgar Square, which in this crowd takes them almost an hour. Night has well and truly fallen by the time they press into the mass gathered around the fountain and the Nelson Monument, the square all lit up by the light of a bonfire at the far end. Beyond, Big Ben is clothed in the emerald light forbidden for six long years.

"Shame we can't climb all the way to the top," America says with envy; he's seen people swinging off lamp-posts all day long.

"Big Ben?" England asks. "Or Nelson's Column?"

"Either would be great."

"Would you settle for a lion?"

"I guess a lion would be okay."

A gaggle of sailors make room for them to scrabble up the plinth onto the back of one of the four bronze lions, where they sit side by side at the heart of the crowd. There is music coming from all directions, impromptu improvisations of popular classics, and people whirl and jitterbug elbow-to-elbow in the fountain.

"I've never seen anything quite like this," America says. "And here I thought you Brits were all reserved."

"I think we've got plenty of help from your lot tonight." England waves vaguely towards the bold flashes of American uniform. "Still, I suppose you can't blame people. Knowing you won't be bombed in bed is enough to make you dance in the street, don't you think?"

"Sure is."

A series of metallic booms echo throughout the square as the searchlights suddenly come on, pointing towards the sky with bright beams as tall as buildings. A yell of appreciation goes through the crowd.

England leans his head against America's arm. "We can be happy tonight too, can't we?" he says quietly. "Even though we know it's not over. Even though... we know what it really cost."

America says nothing, turns his head towards him; and England tilts up his chin and they share a kiss. London goes on partying all around them. It can't last forever but tonight, tonight, it doesn't matter.

* * *

Princess Elizabeth (aka Queen Elizabeth II) was in fact allowed out into the crowds on the evening of VE Day, along with her younger sister Princess Margaret and a party of sixteen others. She joined in the festivities for about two hours before heading back to Buckingham Palace, not before causing some disruption by being part of a conga line in the lobby of a posh hotel. Never let anybody tell you the queen isn't the height of cool. XD


End file.
